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Brian Turner Feb 24
Marjorie mulls the passing man and fly
The marriage window has gone by
Her hair lies dank n' grey in sobern grief
Her clothes befit a teenage thief

Rejection is a common theme
Daily survival is the daily dream
She plays with beads and hears the chime
The grandfather clock, true keeper of time

She smiles when asked to play the part
Of successful daughter, mother and heart
But reality bites when she is inept
Losing in life she always accepts
Meet Marjorie Intrepid my new character.
Sun sets behind, same as always
stretching my still unshapen shadow forward

My foot on the pedal presses,
maybe not as hard as before,
but always

The comic line perspective
forced to fit the frame, constricts
but at the same time comforts

Synapses that once crackled, fizzle
and with a little sadness,
still smile
Lewis Wyn Davies Sep 2020
Punters only buy into words
if they believe there’s worth.
I’ve been begging for buyers
before premature birthdays.
Let earth spin unaware –
never questioned its axis.
Hid from the anxious parties,
continued chewing table cloths,
then choked on the spike of a train stub.

Not much value in a decade thrice lived –
standing on the coast in yesterday’s underwear,
a teenage busker sits between hip-hop legacy
as new marble faces arrive in constant rotation.
I’m waiting for my estranged brother dance,
who ran out on me despite his free diary entries.
Desperate for reunion. Bitter for the jives lost.

I’ve stepped further than I ever pictured
but I’ll never walk away from the stalking wolves.
Cubs are warned but continue to ignore all advice.
Lions that scrap with the pack tell me to enjoy the plains.
So I forget the bites and burn this poem in my future face.
Poem #24 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. Coming to terms with getting older.
Lizzie Nelson Jun 2019
What stuff is this cotton wool behind my eyes?
A knit of foggy fibers holding fast my next thought.
Odd when my mind so flies;
at the age of fifty three I ought
to relish ripe wisdom & cognition,
yet here I am, forgetting where to turn
just to reach the kitchen.
There’s a marvelous point I want to make about this piece...........aaaand it’s gone!
Lizzie Nelson May 2019
Some mornings
I look at my face
and feel a pang of loss.
Like a thing once
fresh and succulent,
forgotten then found
grayed and desiccated
and stuck to the back
of the fridge.

I exaggerate.

Yet I am too old to be salad.
past sell by..
Tommy Randell May 2019
When time was all we had back then
In our innocence and naivety
When we went home to our separate beds
Was it for the want of creativity?

We'd sat on benches and talked of dreams
Who on earth were we trying to fool?
We teased each other with ******* memes
So how come we never really broke the rules?

How come we were virgins still
As Life took us our separate ways?
And why now is it such a thrill
We stand here gaze to gaze?

That like T S Eliot we've explored
To arrive for the very first time
Fifty years older and somewhat bored
Nervous as poets on the starting line

Look, we're not brand new anymore
I'd say more than a little threadbare -
But maybe that's what Reunions are for
That some beginnings can finally get there!
Watch out for those Reunion ***** guys! As they say, about the staircase of life... That last step is doozie !

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